


Post-Q&A

by writerfrancis



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Humor, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerfrancis/pseuds/writerfrancis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ride to the hotel following The Empty Hearse Q&A.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Post-Q&A

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this little ficlet in response to the cringefest that was the Q&A hosted by she who shall not be named. It just came into my head, was quickly typed up and is not to be taken seriously.
> 
> The fic reading/embarrassment is referenced but not the actual one in question by mildridandbobbin as 1. I wouldn't do that. 2. I couldn't actually finish watching the Q&A 'cause I was dying and just hearing a few questionable dirty words from Martin addressed to Ben pretty much killed me, so I don't even know the exact words they read out. So I made up a pretend fic for this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I LOVE SLASH and would probably love the fic they actually read out if I was reading it alone under the bedsheets. This is not meant to be insulting, it's just a well-intentioned joke. So, enjoy… or not.
> 
> Most importantly, KEEP WRITING AND DRAWING EVERYONE!
> 
> P.S Derren = Derren Brown (magician) – he was at the screening.

\--

 

 

'Well, that was embarrassing.'

'What was?' Martin's expression is serenely blank as he closes his eyes, leaning against the leather headrest.

Benedict shakes his head and turns to look out of the dark glazed window, one side of his mouth tugging irresistibly upwards.

'Funny. I wish I had your gold fish memory.'

'I took a leaf out of your character's book and deleted it. Forever. Never to be seen again.' He breathes a dramatic sigh of relief then turns suddenly to Benedict in bewilderment. 'Sorry, what did you just say?'

Benedict giggles, Martin's sardonic humour never fails to amuse him.

'Still, I think I need to talk about it, as catharsis or something.'

Benedict's phone bleeps and a message from Amanda, presently in the car behind them with Lou, flits up on screen:

 _Don't you fucking dare_.

He flashes the phone under Martin's nose. 'Mind-reader.'

Martin barks a laugh in response. 'Pah. Guesswork. Derren's been giving her lessons.'

He grabs the phone and types out a quick-fire response:

_Shut it, third wheel._

'The problem with you is you can't compartmentalise, you have too many drawers open.'

'I have… drawers?'

'Yeah, they're wide open.'

Benedict raises an eyebrow. 'Sounds a bit rude.'

'I'll put it another way. You're soft and you need hardening.' says Martin matter-of-factly.

Benedict smothers an oncoming grin and looks straight ahead.

'Martin.'

'What?'

'Don't tell me I need hardening.'

'You do.'

'Well, I don't need your help there.'

'Right.' Martin nods.

'Okay.'

'I wasn't offering.' Martin adds.

 _Prick,_  thinks Benedict, but refuses to show any weakness. 'Good.'

'Good.'

Silence descends.

Left to its own devices, Benedict's mind begins to replay recent embarrassing events, recalling next to him, under the hot, glaring lights, Martin breathing particularly eye-watering words like  _devour_ and  _thrust_  and …

Benedict feels tension begin to knot in his every muscle. Across from him, Martin appears infuriatingly indifferent.

A few more minutes elapse. Rain begins to spatter on the window pane. Martin begins whistling a tune.

'Well.' Benedict bursts out abruptly, just to say something, anything.

'Hm?'

'It's awkward.'

'Oh,' said Martin lightly. 'That's just our sexual tension.'

And with that, utter mortification overwhelms Benedict - the second wave of that evening and no less horrific. That fucking hobbit. He breathes heavily though his nostrils, briefly wishing he was Smaug and could incinerate Martin on the spot.

'Okay, I retract my previous statement. I don't want to talk about it. The subject is banned. '

'You've gone a bit red.' Martin informs him, leaning in dangerously close. Benedict stares at his knees, suddenly engrossed in them. 'You started sweating back there when she brought out the fanfic.'

'Shut up, its still raw.' Benedict snaps. Then, good humouredly, adds, 'Be gentle with me.'

He instantly regrets the words as he catches Martin smiling.

'You know, I think my favourite part was when you pushed me up against the wall. There's me thinking it was just a bit of innocent man-wrestling and then out of nowhere my Christmas jumper's on the floor and —'

'Stop.' Benedict cringes, feeling like he is shrinking into the seat from embarrassment.

'— you're eating my face off. Really going for it. Have to say, threw me off a bit. I thought it seemed a bit out of character when you kept coming up behind me and brushing against me in the kitchen, started winking at me at crime scenes —'

Ben reaches out to swat at Martin, hitting him haphazardly on the arm.

'Alright — enough, enough!'

He's cringing to the max and fighting a swell of laughter ready to burst out of his chest at same time. The sensation is almost painful.

Martin, oblivious to the attack, rumbles on. 'The kissing seemed a bit out of left field and when the pelvic thrusting began, I knew the author was taking a  _very_  new direction, something a lot _deeper_ …'

'Oh god.'

'Yeah, that's what Sherlock kept saying. _'_ Martin attempts a low-pitched moan. ' _Oh God_.  _Goood._   _Jawwwn.'_

'Martin—! _'_

'But you know, now I think about it, everything we actors do is down to audience interpretation. Once art is put into the public domain —'

'You fucking luvvie.' Benedict smirks.

'—- all the writer's, even the actor's, original intentions become mute and we have no control over how its perceived. It's the audience who shapes it. Stop hitting me, you posh twat.'

Benedict gives up and sighs. 'But we don't play it that way.' he stresses, determined now to address the issue seriously. He turns to Martin, feeling an impassioned speech about the show, its characters and their artistic interpretations coming on.

'Like I said back there, those kind of scenarios are simply absurd and could never occur in our fictional world.' he says, cutting the air with a firm gesture. 'It's just impossible. Sherlock has no time for such distractions and John is clearly a ladies man.'

Martin nods, listening with a stern gaze of mock seriousness.

'All joking aside, and yes, we know there's gags pertaining to something more in the script, but I  _really_ think that the portrayal of a platonic yet meaningful relationship between two men is being undervalued here, and misinterpreted, when it shouldn't, it should be acceptable that two men can live together —

'Share a car together.'

'Yes, precisely, and have a good working relationship and a chemistry that doesn't necessarily equate to, to —'

Benedict is gesticulating more vigorously now, but he's losing his thread, aware of the intensity of Martin's gaze. He slows, unable to finish the sentence with the correct word. A word that feels ridiculously taboo suddenly, that if he utters it, his composure might completely fall to pieces. He feels his cheeks burn.

Despite himself, he meets Martin's eyes and swears there is a playful flicker in that dead-pan gaze. 'Well, you know, equate to -'

'Sex.'

Martin drops it casually and at the same time covers Benedict's hand with his own. Benedict jolts upward like he's just touched a live wire and smacks his head on the car roof. But Martin keeps a firm, warm grip on his hand between the seats, entrapping him.

'You okay?' he asks softly, wide eyed and innocent. Benedict feels like his head, mouth, body, everything is on fire: an amalgamation of utter rage and embarrassment that immobilises him. Their eyes lock and there is a faint sizzle of that something, what he's been protesting…

Martin is a master. A long, agonizing couple of seconds pass and he doesn't crack: just watches Benedict suffer, his expression unreadable. Then, his fingertips sneakily brush the top of Benedict's wrist.

'Fuck you.' Ben hisses, barely audible. It's the only viable response, but also the completely wrong one.

'That's a bit rude,' Martin sniffs. 'I thought we were keeping it platonic.'

A vibration in his pocket electrifies Benedict back into action and he tugs his hand easily away from Martin who settles contentedly back into the seat as if nothing happened. The text is another threat from Amanda:

_Keep your hands off my John, you hussy!_

It's all too much. He's going to need to take a cold shower when he gets back to the hotel. And he'll be locking the bathroom door just in case.

'Broooo-mance.' Martin utters, toying with the word.

'Waaaaanker. ' Benedict coos, staring hard out of the window.

'You have soft hands.'

'I'm never working with you again.'

This time Martin's phone bleeps. It's Amanda:  _Threesome with Benny to celebrate?_

Martin tilts the screen at Benedict as the car draws up outside their collective hotel and watches joyfully as the taller man attempts to clamber out of the car so fast he gets tangled up in his seat belt in the process.

Benedict is long gone by the time Martin has finally finished laughing and is wiping tears from his eyes.

 

\--


End file.
